


Cast Away Your Chains

by imachar



Series: The Weight of a Man [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-02
Updated: 2010-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they finally get their shit together and commit.  A little angst and a lot of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast Away Your Chains

**Author's Note:**

> Acquis Communautaire is a French term that refers to the accumulated body of laws and treaties that all applicants to the EU must agree to adopt before they can join. Since the Federation is headquartered in Paris, I've adopted the term for the similar process of applying for Federation membership.
> 
> The BDSM is VERY mild in this one.
> 
> Beta: skyblue_reverie

It takes a clusterfuck of truly epic proportions for a starship to lose fifteen people on what should be a routine diplomatic mission, even more so for nine of them to be from medical - but no one in the Federation Diplomatic Corps, no one at Starfleet Command and not even the indigenous government on the ground had anticipated the extent and virulence of the Indigenous Freedom League’s opposition to _Haverai’I Prime’s_ application for Federation membership.

Late in the afternoon of the last day of negotiations the pens and the electronic seals are laid out on the ceremonial treaty desk in the Great Hall of the Presidential Palace. The talking is over, the leadership of _Haverai’I_ has agreed, in principal, to the tenets of the Federation constitution; has agreed, in principal, to accepting the acquis communautaire and is gathered with the Federation Ambassador for the sector and five of his consular staff, along with the senior command crew of the _USS Yorktown_ , to sign the accession agreements.

Someone should have caught the first bomb – but local cultural sensitivity regarding pregnancy makes one of the guards squeamish and he lets the woman through into the observation gallery without screening her properly. She is, of course, not pregnant. Fifteen minutes into the speeches she disintegrates in a hail of flesh and stone shrapnel as she explodes and takes the floor of the gallery and one of its support pillars with her. That bomb kills thirteen, not many in the grand scheme of terrorist events, but it is never intended to be the main event.

Twenty minutes later, with security and medical personnel from the orbiting Federation starship scattered throughout the Great Hall tending to the eighty or so living casualties, with the leaders on both sides spirited away to secure locations and the ceremony postponed, the three massive stone pillars that hold up the domed roof of the hall shatter as one when a timed detonation sets off the explosives that have been concealed under fake steps in the spiral stairways that wind up the interiors of each. The blast and the shrapnel kill thirty-six instantly, the collapsing dome another fifty-nine, only those at the edges of the room, protected by the remnant of the gallery or shielded by the smaller pillars that support it, survive – their injuries ranging from debilitating limb loss to nicks and cuts from flying stone. The vast majority of the casualties are civilians and support personnel – the very essence of a soft target.

The statement of responsibility from the militant wing of the IFL is a study in concise logic. “Federation representatives: we cannot persuade our leaders that we do not want you – maybe we can persuade you that you do not want us.”

By the time the _USS Norman Bethune_ arrives three hours later, the worst of the carnage on the surface has been cleared away but the main sickbay of the _Yorktown_ is still littered with casualties. All three doctors are critically injured, including the CMO Stef Corvinus who is in a medically-induced coma until he can be assessed by an adequately qualified doctor. Fifteen of the twenty-four nurses and twenty corpsmen are either dead or sufficiently seriously injured to have been declared unfit for duty and the sickbay is largely being run by the med-techs who weren’t on the surface at the time of the disaster - wise in the ways of the complex medical machinery of the 23rd century but clearly not capable of handling either the number or the severity of the casualties that have been beamed up from the surface.

Fortunately this is exactly what the staff of the Federation’s newest emergency response medical ship _is_ qualified for and under Phil Boyce’s composed and capable direction they begin the triage process, shipping the most severely injured over to the _Bethune_ and sorting the rest into groups for immediate surgery, high-priority burn treatment and bone regeneration.

Phil knows that Chris is fine, the mission briefing had been clear that while the _Yorktown’s_ captain had been on the ground at the time of the second blast he’d suffered nothing worse than a couple of shrapnel nicks, but still he feels the wave of relief roll through him when, after three hours, he looks up to find Chris walking through the main doors of sickbay. After six hours of diplomatic damage control Chris is still pale with shock and quivering with suppressed rage, but physically he’s unhurt and Phil feels a little of the tension bleed away as he realizes, not for the first time, that he might be much fonder of this man than he’d ever be willing to admit to anyone else. It’s neither the time nor the place for them to exchange anything meaningful but Phil manages to corner Chris alone for a moment as they discuss Corvinus’ transfer to the _Bethune_ and he slides his fingers around Chris’ wrist, squeezing gently.

“I’ll be done in about an hour.”

The tension in Chris’ body eases just a fraction, a slight shift of his stance that would be imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Phil does.

“I’ve got a debriefing vid-conference with Medvedev and Ndriamparan, it should be over by then – then I plan to break open a fresh bottle of Acamarian vodka – you can bring the detox shots.” There’s a dark self-destructive edge to Chris’ tone and Phil squeezes his wrist tightly again before releasing it.

“Just promise me you won’t start anything before I get there.”

****

A little over an hour later Phil finds Chris slumped on the low couch in his quarters. The lights set at maybe 10%, he’s sitting silently in the almost-dark staring at the as-yet-unopened bottle of Acamarian vodka.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Chris is playing with a shot glass and he doesn’t look up as Phil toes off his boots at the door.

“You okay?” Phil turns and resets the lock on Chris’ door; now that he’s here he doubts they’re expecting any more company for the evening.

“What part of losing six corpsmen, three nurses and most of a security detail would make you think that I’m okay?” Chris does sarcasm better than just about anyone Phil’s ever met, himself excepted, although he does wonder if Chris has perhaps met his match in the _Yorktown’s_ new XO – now that he’s finally met her Phil thinks that One might be able to strip paint with her tongue. But sarcasm isn’t going to get them anywhere right now and Phil sharpens his tone a fraction.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it – it wasn’t your fault, Chris.”

“You sure about that? I was the one who sent them down there.”

“You couldn’t have done anything else and I’m pretty damn sure Stef would have fought you if you’d tried to stop them from going. He’s always been a stubborn son of a bitch.”

Finally Chris looks across to where Phil is sitting on the edge of the couch. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll take time, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” Phil pauses and reaches for the well-iced bottle, tilting it slightly, watching the viscous liquid flow thickly within the frosted glass, the slight iridescence revealing the rather higher-than-Federation-legal alcohol proof and then asks. “Do I even want to know what your plans are for this bottle?”

“I think you can probably guess; you did bring the detox hypo I asked for, right?” Chris has gone back to staring at the floor.

“I did, but d’you really think drinking yourself unconscious is a solution to anything?”

Chris’ head comes up again, very slowly until he’s holding Phil with his gaze, his eyes dark with anger and guilt and his voice is a low rough growl when he finally speaks. “I need to forget, Phil - for just a while, I need to forget that I lost fifteen people because someone failed to mention in the briefing report that not everyone was happy with _Haverai’I_ joining the Federation.”

Phil just nods. “I know.” And he shifts a little closer on the couch, one hand resting lightly on the back of Chris’ neck, feeling the tension vibrating beneath the skin. “I’m just suggesting that alcohol might not be your only choice for release tonight - I’m here; just tell me what you want from me.”

Chris looks away, to the bulkhead behind Phil’s shoulder and then down at the industrial gray decking beneath his boots again and he’s clearly struggling with something, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he clenches it tight, the fingers of his left hand curling and uncurling reflexively as he tries to control his breathing. Phil just waits, fingers still gently stroking the soft, fine hair at the nape of his neck before sliding down to work firmly into the bunched muscles of his shoulders.

Phil is pretty sure he knows exactly what Chris is thinking, knows exactly what he needs - the question is whether he has the nerve to ask for it. And then, just when Phil’s beginning to wonder if, once again, they are going to sidestep this and let the evening devolve into what he’s come to think of as Plan B - the fuck-Phil-into-the-mattress method of stress relief - Chris takes a breath and says with uncharacteristic hesitation, “If I ask you for this, for what I need right now, it’s going to change everything – I don’t know if I can do that.” Chris bites his lower lip and then buries his face in his hands, raking his fingers up into his hair and Phil just keeps rubbing the back of his neck gently.

“Tell me; we can work out the details later – just tell me what you need _now_.”

Chris pauses for just a heartbeat longer and then exhales sharply and begins to speak in a breathless rush. “I want you to take me down. All the way Phil, I need you to own me, control me, fuck me, make me feel safe.” Now, he’s really shaking and Phil pulls him close strong, broad hand gently kneading a trembling shoulder as Chris wraps himself in the warm familiarity of Phil’s arms.

“You’re sure?” it’s a whisper against Chris’ hair and his own voice is a little unsteady now. Phil won’t pretend he hasn’t wanted this for a long time, but this kind of surrender is something that has to be offered, not demanded, and as close as they’ve come to this point over the years, Chris has always held back just a fraction, never quite ready to commit himself completely into Phil’s hands. What has changed tonight, Phil’s not sure, they’ve come through far worse stresses than this over the last thirteen years – twenty-one meetings in that time, over a third of which were connected to some kind of crisis – and while he doesn’t want to question it, he has to be sure that this is really what Chris wants.

“I’m sure, I’ve never been more fucking sure of anything in my life.”

He sounds utterly convinced, but still Phil can hear the weary edge of pain in Chris’ voice and he doesn’t want this to happen just because Chris is desperate for some kind of absolution.

“Okay, okay, but trust me – I need to know that _you_ understand what you’re asking for.” Phil pushes Chris away, just far enough to tilt his chin up so they are eye to eye and he curses his own weakness as both his heart and his cock leap at the aching, needy trust that is reflected back at him.

“In a minute I’m going to tell you to go take a shower, it’ll give you a last chance to think about this. You need to think about what you’re offering and what you want and most of all, what I’m going to demand from you if we do this. But first, I’m going to give you a couple of ground rules – in the future we can change them, talk about them, but for now they’re my rules.” Phil curves his hand around Chris’ cheek, thumb brushing lightly over that perfect mouth and Chris bites down on it gently, the sharp scrape of his teeth and slick, hot wet of his tongue making Phil catch his breath before he can go on.

“Hmmm… okay, if we’re going to do this I need a word from you. Eventually I’ll learn to read you well enough to know when we’re going too far – but I don’t know that yet – so I need a safe word.” He withdraws his thumb, brushing over Chris’ lip and down across the very slight cleft in his chin. Phil is actually pretty sure that he _does_ know Chris well enough to know exactly where his boundaries are – he’s been pushing them for long enough and has never overstepped them yet – but still, there is convention here, and courtesy, and he smiles as Chris tilts his head after a moment. “Sierra.”

Phil’s gratified that Chris seems to understand that short and memorable is the key here, but he’s truly impressed when Chris actually explains his choice to him. “Easy to say, easy to remember and…” Chris rests his hand on Phil’s thigh and makes three taps in quick succession. “…if I can’t speak…” he raises an eyebrow, and Phil finds the momentary flash of teasing humor incredibly comforting. “…for whatever reason…” and clearly they are both thinking the same thing. “…then it’s S in Morse, first letter of SOS, that should be pretty clear.” Phil is glad Chris explained that one to him; Morse code isn’t exactly required knowledge for Starfleet’s surgeons, or even for its commanders, for that matter, and it’s just like Chris to have that bit of esoterica tucked away for an occasion like this.

“Clever boy.” Phil draws him in for a long, sweet kiss that’s all wet heat and agile tongues. He can feel Chris automatically trying to take control, to initiate the give and take of their normal little battle for dominance, and he takes the opportunity to demonstrate exactly what Chris is letting himself in for, ruthlessly and almost effortlessly taking control of the kiss – his fingers wrapped tight in thick hair that is still slightly gritty from the debris and shrapnel of the blasts. There is only a fractional second of hesitation before Chris gets the point and relaxes, giving up without any further fight as Phil plunders his mouth. The kiss goes on long beyond the point of surrender and by the time Phil pulls back with a sharp nip to Chris’ kiss-bruised lower lip they’re both panting and bright-eyed with lust. Collecting himself Phil leans his forehead gently against Chris’.

“Like I said, we need rules.”

“I know, Phil…I know what I’m getting into.”

The momentary surge of jealousy catches Phil by surprise and he pulls back not quite able to stop himself from asking. “You’ve done this before - who with?” and then he’s annoyed as hell at himself as Chris turns his head to hide the slight quirk of his mouth as he tries not to smile.

“No one Phil, really – but we’ve been heading down this road for a long time – and you know me, I’m always prepared. I’ve been reading.” There’s a deep weariness in Chris’ voice, but it’s tempered with humor and just the slightest hint of impatience. “Now, those rules of yours please, because I really need to get to the part where you fuck me senseless.”

“Patience, darling boy – patience, we’ll get there – and now, just to get into the spirit of the thing, that’s the last order you’re going to give me tonight.”

Phil leans in and whispers, his breath hot against Chris’ cheek “I want you to talk to me tonight, I want to hear what I’m doing to you – I want to hear you scream – but you try to give me orders, or even come _close_ to trying to take control and I swear I’ll gag you.” There’s a shudder and a sharp intake of breath from Chris and Phil laughs, a quiet, dark, silky sound. “I think you like that idea, don’t you – maybe another time?”

He nudges Chris to lift his head again and finds himself staring into familiar gray-blue, searches for hesitation or uncertainty and finds none, only trust and a slightly speculative curiosity.

“Okay.” There are a lot of things they _should_ be talking about right now, but Phil is really only concerned with the things Chris needs to know for tonight – the rest can come later.

“First, whenever we start this, it ends when both of us have come. That’s more a guideline than a rule - I can pretty much guarantee that you’ll be so wrung out by the time I’m done with you that all you’ll be fit for is sleep – but just in case.” He taps a forefinger to Chris’ lips. “Second, you only come when I let you.” That generates a little flash of defiance, but Phil grins as he watches Chris control himself and he just knows that his words have been internalized as a challenge.

“And?”

Phil grins again, a tiny little feral smile and he can see Chris shiver just a fraction at the look as he tightens his hold on the back of Chris’ neck, almost to the point of pain. “From the moment we start this, until the moment it ends – you are _mine_ – I own you – you do everything I say without question and without hesitation. If you want out you use your safe word and it ends immediately.” He gentles his grip and strokes his fingers up into Chris’ hairline. “And no matter when and how it ends, you let me look after you when we’re done.” He watches as Chris’ eyes flare with heat and sees the unmistakable contraction of iris as his pupils go wide, and he swallows hard and nods.

“Good boy.” Phil leans in for another kiss and this time Chris relaxes into it without a struggle. “Such a good boy. And I promise I will be so good to you. Now, go shower, think about what I’ve said. When you walk back out of that door you have one chance to tell me no – and then you’re mine for the rest of the night.”

For a moment after Chris disappears through the door of the head Phil just sits on the couch and marvels at what he’s just been offered. He couldn’t possibly count the times he’s jerked off to the thought of Chris surrendering like this. He hasn’t ever really indulged this side of his nature – this is a game he’s really only been willing to contemplate playing with someone whose trust he has earned and he’s never been in a conventional relationship long enough to build that kind of connection. And he hasn’t done the club scene since med school - he has no interest in a sub who will go down for anyone. He has no interest in _anyone_ that he can dominate easily, but there’s nothing easy about dominating Chris, and the idea that this incredibly competent, powerful, charismatic man is willing to put himself entirely in his hands has Phil so hard he’s as near to coming as he can be without being touched. He looks down at his groin a little ruefully, the black fabric of his uniform pants stretched uncomfortably tight. There is no way he’s going to be able to last long enough to make this work for Chris unless he takes the edge off first.

“You think you can get up twice for me tonight?” Realizing that he’s forty-eight years old and is talking to his dick, something he hasn’t done since he was a teenager, he groans and lets his head fall back against the back of the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling for a moment. In the silence he can hear the shower running, and wonders if Chris is having the same problem – realizes that he probably should have issued instructions that he wasn’t to touch himself – and then figures that Chris is smart enough, and well-read enough, to know that is a given in this situation.

He has to improvise a bit, but by the time the door to the head slides open Phil is ready. He’s upped the lights just enough so that he’s going to have enough illumination to actually enjoy watching Chris’ surrender and he’s garnered a few supplies – the more obvious from the drawer at the head of Chris’ bunk but also, from his desk, two of the adjustable heating coasters that Chris uses for keeping his coffee at the near nuclear-meltdown temperature that he prefers and, from the wall-closet, the less expensive of the pair of silk ties that he keeps for the rare formal-but-not-Starfleet occasions that require him to wear a civilian suit. And Phil’s gone so far as to shed his shirts, leaving them on a little more of an even footing when Chris walks naked from the bathroom and, as always, manages to take his breath away.

“Fuck – you are ridiculously gorgeous, you know that don’t you?”

Chris just tilts his head and gives the slightest smile. “Not so bad yourself, old man.”

He stops in front of Phil who holds up the tie in an unspoken, but very obvious inquiry and Chris just drops his head and nods once. “Yes.”

“Okay, remember what I said – if you want out, you know what to do – other than that, you’re _mine_ ”

Chris tenses just a fraction when Phil wraps the silk around his wrists and Phil reaches to place two finger tips against the beating pulse in his neck – stepping close enough to feel the residual humidity from the shower and just holds Chris’ gaze until he feels the pulse slow and settle and he knows then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is exactly what Chris wants. Phil is a master at reading bodies, the slightest shifts in heart rate and respiration and blood pressure providing far more information than the half-truths and self-delusions that come out of his patients’ mouths and the slowing pulse speaks of a calm, quiet acceptance. He’s still a little unsure as to exactly _why_ Chris wants this – he thinks, he hopes, that it is genuinely about surrendering control, but is worried nonetheless that Chris somehow expects this to involve some form of punishment for his sins, both real and imagined.

“Go sit on the bunk – I’ll be there in a minute.” And Phil watches with something akin to wonder as Chris does exactly as he’s bidden. He’d have ordered him to his knees, but he doesn’t want to push too far too fast and while being bound isn’t unfamiliar territory for either of them, the tone of this evening is just a little different from their usual, slightly more equitable, tussle for dominance. He takes a moment to lay a couple of things at the side of the bunk and then comes to stand in front of Chris, cupping his cheek to tilt his head up and brushing his thumb gently over Chris’ mouth.

“Before we start this – you need to understand, this is not about punishment, Chris, I have no idea what you’ve read – but I will not hurt you and I will not humiliate you.” Phil lets himself smile just a fraction. “That doesn’t mean you won’t experience pain and you won’t use every insult in your very considerable vocabulary as I torture you – but I can guarantee you are going to love every single second of it.” He doesn’t really expect Chris to be able to formulate a response to that and leans down to catch his mouth in another long, sweet and utterly possessive kiss.

“First thing then, gorgeous boy.” Phil flips open the catch of his pants and shoves them down just far enough to release his by now aching cock. “I need you to take care of this for me; I’m not going to be any damn good to you at all like this.”

That makes Chris smile just a little, and Phil knows that he’s square in the middle of Chris’ comfort zone here. Chris could conduct master classes in giving head and apparently that thought makes him comfortable enough that he slides down off the side of the bunk onto his knees. Phil knows he should probably rebuke him for acting without instruction, but again, he doesn’t want to push too hard tonight and he has to admit it was an inspired move, leaving Phil breathless yet again at the sight of Chris naked and kneeling and ready to suck his cock.

It’s not like the sight of Chris on his knees is exactly uncharted territory for Phil; he’s probably been on the receiving end of more blowjobs from this man than any other in his somewhat chequered sexual past. But this somehow feels entirely new as Chris looks up at him with none of his usual teasing confidence; there’s a gravity to him, and an edge of something else, not nervousness exactly but certainly a diffidence that is both unfamiliar and yet achingly _right_ and Phil winds his fingers into the mass of thick hair and uses the grip to anchor Chris as he leans forward.

Chris’ movements are a little awkward until he gets used to balancing with his hands bound in front of him and there is a fleeting pause before Phil feels the damp heat of Chris’ breath on his hyper-sensitive cock and he knows this is going to get messy really fast. He’s only able to gasp a soft profanity as Chris lowers his eyes, lashes dark on his cheeks and licks a searing trail up the quivering shaft, pauses for just a second to draw his tongue across the head and then presses his forehead to Phil’s belly, uses his lips to maneuver the tip of Phil’s cock to exactly the right angle and then sinks his mouth all the way to the root in one smooth, slick slide. It’s like being sheathed in liquid silk, _hot_ liquid silk – with suction – and it takes an embarrassingly brief few moments before Phil is shuddering and cursing and coming so fast and so hard he feels like he’s going to faint.

Phil’s still a little unsteady as he kicks his pants all the way off and he doesn’t have any real recollection of telling Chris to lie down until he watches as Chris lays himself out on the bed, all pale curves and dark gold shadows in the subdued light. But he is aware enough to see the slightly stiff cast to Chris’ normally graceful movements and he’s glad that he left a vial of oil to warm on one of the heating coasters by the bed. Shaking off the last residual shivers of his orgasm, Phil pulls a pillow down to wedge beneath Chris’ hips, and then settles himself at the foot of the bunk and takes one long, elegant foot into his hands.

“I’m just going to touch you for a while, let us both get used to the idea that this body is mine tonight – I don’t want you to move, or try to touch me...” Phil’s not entirely sure that would be possible given that Chris’ arms are bound at the wrists and stretched above his head – but he’s nothing if not resourceful so better to just be explicit “…or feel like you have to do anything except lie there and let this happen.”

With his own arousal now firmly under control Phil starts slowly, working the oil into each tense muscle group in turn, from the soles of Chris’ feet, over the powerful muscles of his calves and thighs, across the firm smooth curve of his ass to the long sweep of his back – finding all the knots and trigger points that he’s come to know over the years that they’ve been doing this – feeling Chris shiver and moan, and occasionally twitch and curse when he mercilessly works at a tense spot until Phil is totally absorbed in the feel of the body under his hands. He breaks off occasionally, to give his hands a rest and to worship the warm, flushed skin with his mouth, nipping gently and leaving trails of suckled bruises – aware that some will have to be erased by the morning, and lavishing extra attention on the more discreet places where Chris will be able to carry these marks until they fade naturally.

By the time Phil reaches his shoulders the sounds Chris is making have devolved into breathless little moans and Phil thinks he’s never heard anything as exquisite in his life. He strokes a hand lightly down the long back, the skin rosy and ever so slightly damp and leans in to lay a long, lush kiss in the hollow at the base of Chris’ spine, his breath catching at the sharp musk of his arousal. He can feel the quivering tension as Chris tries valiantly to obey Phil’s instruction, issued for the second time, _not_ to thrust against the pillow that’s resting beneath his hips and he groans himself a little at the thought of the length of thick, flushed cock, leaking freely onto the linens. Chris can’t quite contain a slight shift of his hips and Phil slides his hand over the firm curve of ass as he warns, voice a quiet, silky threat.

“Defy me one more time and you’re not going to be able to sit in that center seat for a week.”

“Jesus…” Chris lets out a quiet whisper of need “…please…” and Phil shivers as he imagines the imprint of his hand on that perfect, pale curve of flesh and then backs off with a whisper.

“Fuck, what you do to me.”

Broad hands now splayed across the sheets on either side of Chris’ shoulders, supporting his weight, Phil leans in and exhales a long breath on Chris’ nape, feeling him twitch and whimper slightly. It’s almost as if he’s anticipating Phil’s next move, and he arches off the bed as Phil bites down hard on the smooth skin between neck and shoulder, and sucks a punishingly deep bruise into the warm flesh.

It’s time to up the ante just a little - Phil’s been incredibly gentle so far, teasing, touching, playing with fingers and lips and tongue, but if this is going to turn into what they both need then Phil has to be a little more decisive about his ownership of the body that is spread out beneath him and he slides his mouth to the soft skin beneath Chris’ left ear.

“My beautiful, beautiful boy – you are _mine_ \- no one else will ever _touch_ you like this – no one else will ever make you _feel_ this - no one else will ever _mark_ you like this. _No one_.” There is always power in Phil’s voice, but tonight the authority in it is dark and deeply sensual and the words hang in the air, giving voice and form to the deep, visceral connection that they’ve always shared but have never acknowledged. As he continues to whisper his possession Phil feels Chris go totally boneless, sinking into the mattress and knows that the last of his control is almost relinquished. A sudden surge of possessive longing catches Phil by surprise – he wants to see the final moment of surrender, the instant when Chris gives him everything.

“Over.” Phil sits back on his heels and gives Chris room to move, helping him roll onto his back and rearranging the now slightly damp pillow under his hips. Without warning or preamble Phil cups a hand around Chris’ balls and then sucks the entire length of his erection deep into his throat. Chris levitates off the bed with a slightly strangled cry and Phil pulls off fast and rings the base of Chris’ cock with his thumb and forefinger. He squeezes hard and feels rather than hears the shuddering groan as he pulls Chris back from the edge.

“You come when I say – no matter what I do to you – understand?”

Panting and sweating slightly Chris nods and manages to look both wanton and sweetly vulnerable at the same time and Phil relents for a moment and braces his weight on one arm as he leans down to claim him again in a relentlessly possessive kiss. He breaks it only to trail a series of bruising little bites down the exposed column of Chris’ throat and then takes a detour to nuzzle into the soft, thick hair under his arm, reveling in the clean, earthy musk that is so completely Chris.

And then he moves on, finds a nipple hidden in the thick mat of dark gold hair. Already peaked, it hardens to a tight, furled point as Phil tortures it for a little while with his teeth and then, when he knows Chris has had just about enough, he suckles the tender little nub gently – and then bites down hard.

“Bastard.” Hissed out through gritted teeth the word makes Phil laugh softly and tug lightly on the thick curls at the base of Chris’ cock.

“Your bastard and you are my boy.”

“Mmm, oh fuck yes…always.” And whatever else Chris might have been going to say is lost as Phil leans up over him again and resumes the slow, sweet torture of his nipples. When he’s reduced Chris to stuttering incoherence with only the occasional obscenity or quiet plea intelligible amid the whispered moans Phil moves on, using teeth and tongue on the defined muscles of his stomach. He pauses for a moment to tongue-fuck Chris’ navel and then works his way lower until he can slide his mouth over the thick length of weeping cock, the sharp-bitter taste of pre-come exploding on his tongue. Kinder than he maybe should be, Phil wraps a hand tight around Chris’ cock, making it impossible for him to come - and thereby disobey the second of Phil’s rules for the evening – and tortures him with slow, exquisitely expert touches of lips and tongue and teeth, suckling hard and then backing off every time he senses the intensity becoming too much for Chris.

It’s enough to start ratcheting up Phil’s arousal once more and he can feel himself starting to fill and firm again. He’s thankful for the foresight that had him get Chris to take the edge off earlier – in some ways his increasingly extended refractory period can be a pain in the ass, but tonight the seventy or so minutes of recovery time will prove just about perfect – just long enough to turn Chris inside out with need before Phil relents and fucks him, long and slow and sweet until he’s an incoherent, sweat-soaked mess.

When he’s finally ready, Phil leans over the side of the bunk and finds the mug he’s laid aside there, the bottom of it is covered with a centimeter or so of lube, and the whole thing is set on a heating coaster that he’s set to 37 degrees. It’s a slightly surreal feeling as his fingers dip into blood-heat viscous gel, a sense that there’s nothing really there until he withdraws the fingers and rubs them together, slick against each other. It’s been a while, but Phil remembers just how good body-temperature lube feels and he’s ready for Chris’ full-body shudder as he traces a slick finger across his entrance, feeling the muscles relax at the first touch and making a second pass to press a little deeper.

“Oh fuuuuck….ohhh…” The voice trails off into an inchoate moan, but Phil is just surprised that anything coherent is coming out at this point; he’d thought Chris had passed into non-verbal a long while ago.

“Ready gorgeous boy – are you ready for me to fuck you, to claim you, to own you? Are you?” and there is a falter in Phil’s voice for just a moment. “Jesus Chris, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” And with that he slides the teasing finger past the twitching ring of muscle and twists it as he sinks into the hot velvet of Chris’ body. Now Chris is finally beyond words, and the sounds he’s making as Phil teases him, slicking deep to tag his prostate and then pulling out to rub firmly around the slowly stretching muscle, have Phil hard enough to pound nails by the time he’s managed to add a second finger.

Even as relaxed as he is, it takes care and time to stretch Chris, and Phil wonders, as he always does, if it’s because Chris doesn’t bottom for anyone but him – it’s always a thought that brings him right to the edge of orgasm – the thought that even if they aren’t exclusive, this is reserved only for him and, for the first time he dares to voice the thought.

“You are so fucking tight, Chris. Is that because this is mine, because no one else gets to do this, no one else knows how incredible it is to sink into you? How amazing it feels to have you twisting and moaning on their cock as you get fucked.” Phil has to bite hard on the inside of his lip to calm the sudden wash of emotion that threatens for just a second to overwhelm him before he can go on. He’s not sure that Chris can answer him, but he pushes anyway. “Am I, Chris, am I the only one who knows this part of you?” and Phil shivers as Chris manages to force out a few stuttered words.

“Fuck yes - only you.”

The admission steals Phil’s breath and makes him shake as he watches Chris arch towards him, impaled now on three fingers and Phil is motionless for a long moment, only able to whisper softly, “Fuck, you can’t even begin to imagine what that does to me.”

An urgent, impatient twist of Chris’ hips brings Phil back to the moment and he pulls his fingers back and almost instinctively lays a hard, stinging slap on the pale skin of Chris rump – it catches more thigh than ass cheek, but makes the point well enough.

“Patience, I decide when you get fucked tonight – not you.” And Phil watches, enthralled, as Chris just bites hard on his lip and tries to control what must be an almost unbearable urge to thrust upwards.

“Good boy.” Phil slides his fingers back into the slick velvet depth of Chris’ ass and strokes slowly once more until he spreads his fingers one final time and, satisfied that Chris is ready he pulls away and lines up his cock, snubbing the blunt head up against the relaxed muscle. For a moment he pauses and then presses just firmly enough to stay lodged in place as he pauses to run his hands gently down Chris’ thighs and over the tense, ridged muscles of his stomach.

“Look at me, Chris. I want you to watch me when I take you.” Phil’s breath hitches in his chest when Chris does as he’s told and opens his eyes – dark and glazed and so utterly submerged in sensation that there’s no awareness in his gaze of anything beyond the two of them. And as he slides deep in a single, smooth stroke and recognizes the utter submission in Chris’ face, Phil realizes that he’s not going to last nearly as long as he would like unless he can find a way to temper the intensity of watching Chris react as he fucks him - every thrust reflected in Chris’ expression and the sight of it bringing Phil to the brink of orgasm in under a minute. Sweating and shaking, Phil pulls back and out and with practiced tug he pulls the silk tie free of Chris’ wrists, rubbing briskly to make sure the circulation is fine and then with a little encouragement he gets Chris to turn onto his hands and knees – wrapping an arm around his waist for support.

“Mmm, fuck yes, that’s better.” Phil breathes out a long sigh as he sheathes himself again and rests his cheek on the damp skin of Chris’ back for a moment and then stirs himself to set up a slow, steady stroke, pulling out almost all the way, teasing for a moment and then shunting back in hard, and with the edge blunted just a little he can begin to work both of them to a slow, sweet, torturous climax. Given that he’s already come once this evening Phil could probably keep this up for thirty or forty minutes and it feels so exquisite that he’s almost tempted to try it but he knows by now Chris has to be in agony – the need for release overwhelming every other sensation, and each time he slides deep, twisting to nail Chris’ prostate he feels the little whimpering moan that shudders through the powerful body in his arms.

“Soon, I promise, soon Chris – you are being so good for me – just a little longer…”

Eventually it’s the burn in his own muscles that forces Phil to finish it and with one last surge of energy he sits back on his heels and pulls Chris up with him groaning at the renewed clench of Chris’ muscles as his body reacts to the sudden, deeper intrusion.

“Now Chris, you can come now…” The only response is a deep shiver and a groan and Phil realizes that Chris is too far gone to be able to think of his own release and he relents and slides a warm hand, slick with lube and sweat and pre-come around the quivering cock and strokes firmly, once and then a second time until Chris spasms and shudders and finally comes in a series of powerful spurts that deck the bulkhead, the sheets and finally Phil’s fingers with viscous, milky threads of semen. Phil tries valiantly to control his body as Chris convulses around him, but the need to come is too powerful and he thrusts up hard, again and again, shaking as he groans out a litany of ownership, and conquest and love.

“Mine…mine…always mine…” His arms still banded tight around Chris’ chest and abdomen Phil can feel the strain on his muscles as he keeps both their bodies upright, the ache sharper each time he thrusts deep until, each time, it’s washed away by the overwhelming surge of pleasure. “My beautiful, beautiful boy...ohh Jesus fuck I need you…ohhh fuucck….Christopher.” And then Phil bites down hard on Chris’ unmarked shoulder as his orgasm hits like a tsunami that whites out his vision and leaves him breathless and moaning, helplessly tumbling in the undertow.

He comes to very slowly, aware that Chris is leaning back against him, breathing in short, sobbing pants and he wraps his arms a little tighter around the shaking body and manages a quiet fractured whisper. “Got you…I’ve got you…always.”

It takes a few more minutes for Chris to calm and he lifts a hand to curl his fingers together with Phil’s where they are still resting on his stomach.

“That was….” Chris starts the thought and Phil finishes it for him, both of them still too winded to manage a full sentence independently.

“….intense..?”

“Mmm….” And Chris slumps a little more, head still lying back on Phil’s shoulder and Phil turns his head just slightly so that he can kiss the mouth that is so temptingly in range before he whispers.

“Well, that was kinda the point, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm…” Chris has gone non-verbal again and Phil just smiles and licks at the still rapid pulse in his neck.

“How do you feel?”

“Incredible…” Chris sounds exhausted and turns his face into the curve of Phil’s neck as he finishes the thought “…and wiped out.”

“Good.” After another moment of basking in the warm, sticky afterglow Phil shifts slightly, aware that Chris is actually pretty damn heavy and is currently bearing almost none of his own weight.

“Okay, I don’t want you to move…”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Yeah, well – just stay there for a moment – just till I’ve cleaned you up a little – then you can sleep.”

“Mmm…whatever you say.” And for just a second Phil thinks that it might be nice to have Chris this biddable all the time – and then he knows it would drive him insane inside an hour.

Chris sways a little as Phil disengages and for a moment it looks like he’s going to collapse on the sheets, but he just goes forward onto his hands, head dropped low between his shoulders and shivers slightly in the cool air of his quarters. Aware that they’ve both expended a huge amount of physical and emotional energy, Phil accomplishes the most rudimentary of clean-ups, finds a fresh pillow in the storage space under the bunk and then wraps both of them in a sheet and by the time he’s pulled up the gorgeous, dark velvet pieced quilt that goes everywhere with Chris, even in defiance of draconian starship weight limits for personal possessions, Chris is already asleep.

*****

Phil has slept in Chris’ quarters before, and he knows that the lights are programmed to come up slowly starting around 06:00, so when he wakes and it’s still dark in the cabin he knows it must still be right in the middle of gamma shift. He wonders briefly what woke him, and then laughs sleepily into the thick hair that is just centimeters from his face. He’s still wrapped around Chris, and he can feel the long fingers of Chris’ left hand, curling into his and wrapping both of their hands around Chris’ very awake cock.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable.”

“Hmmm…I only got to come once tonight, I need a top-up.”

Phil can tell that Chris is still pretty wiped out, his voice sleepy and relaxed and he relents, sliding away for a moment and rolling Chris onto his back.

“Okay, then at least let me do it properly.” And he orders the lights to ten percent before he slides down the bed and gifts Chris with a sweet, lazy, languorous blowjob.

Phil has barely managed to catch his breath, his head still resting against a warm thigh, feeling the muscles twitch and jump under his cheek as Chris recovers when the voice comes out of the dimmness.

“So, you know - I’m going to need a new CMO…” the rest of the sentence is unspoken but they both know exactly what Chris is asking. With Corvinus on medical leave for the foreseeable future Command is going to open up the CMO position on the _Yorktown_.

“Are you asking me to come on board just as your CMO, or is there a friends-with-benefits side to this request?”

There’s a long silence that makes Phil just a little uneasy before Chris finally replies, “I think we moved way beyond friends with benefits tonight - didn’t we?”

And that gives Phil pause because he knows that while Chris may have experienced some kind of epiphany tonight, he’s been in love for a very long time – and he doesn’t want Chris making any rash decisions on the basis of one, albeit earth-shattering, fuck.

“I’m not sure this is the best time to have this conversation.” He can feel Chris inhale, knows that he’s about to protest and reaches up to lay a warning hand on his chest. “No, listen - you’re on just a little bit of an endorphin high right now – do you really want to make this kind of commitment five minutes after I’ve sucked your brains out through your dick?”

Chris just reaches down to tug Phil’s hair gently.

“Get up here...” and when they’re settled comfortably again, Chris leaning up on one elbow, fingers tracing playfully through the hair on Phil’s chest he goes on. “…Phil – how long since you fucked anyone other than me?”

Phil has to think for a moment – CMO on an Emergency Response ship usually provides at least occasional opportunities for casual sex – but he’s actually been in the middle of a pretty serious dry spell recently.

“Four, maybe five months.”

“How long since you fucked another guy?”

Ah, now that is a much more pertinent question and Phil doesn’t have to think very hard about that one at all. “A little over four years.”

“Hmm…does that tell you anything? I mean, you actually _prefer_ sex with guys.” Unlike Chris who is entirely equal opportunity with regard to both sex and species. “If you’re restricting yourself to women then maybe it’s because you really only want to fuck me.”

Even for Chris that’s a seriously egotistical statement and Phil smacks him lightly across the back of the head. “Jesus Chris, you are such an arrogant ass sometimes – maybe I should ask you the same thing – how long?”

“Anyone? Three months…” Sex is pretty hard to come by for starship captains and long dry spells are the norm. “…another guy? Two and half years...”

That gives Phil pause. “Seriously, two and a half years? What happened?”

“Zalda happened, I haven’t really wanted to be with anyone else since then.” He pushes himself up so that he can lean over and trace a fingertip lightly across Phil’s narrow, finely curved mouth, brushing against the soft thickness of his mustache and Phil nips gently at the slightly calloused skin before he is momentarily distracted by the defined curve of Chris’ bicep and the lines of muscle and tendon in the lightly furred forearm. And then Chris brings him back to the moment with a slow, sweet kiss, tongue tracing delicate patterns on the slick surfaces of Phil’s palate. When he’s done they are both a little breathless and Chris’ eyes are dark with renewed arousal and something else that’s shockingly intimate and honest.

“I love you, god help me….I’ve just been fighting it for fucking ever.”

And now that it’s out there Phil relaxes, realizes that he’s been waiting a long time for this – they’ve been orbiting each other for thirteen years, neither of them ever quite ready to acknowledge that they’ve always been more than just occasional fuck-buddies. He’s not really surprised that it’s Chris who takes the leap first, that’s his nature – the risk taker, the brash, bold, brilliant one who’s never climbed carefully over a wall when he could just take a flying leap into the dark.

But for a long breathless moment there’s a wary stillness in Chris as the words hang between them, waiting for Phil wipe the stunned look of his face and respond and then they’re both laughing as Phil wraps a hand around the back of Chris’ neck and pulls him down into a long, lush kiss.

“Damn, took you long enough…”

“Is that your way of saying you love me too?”

“Smart ass, what part of declaring you mine, pretty damn forcefully as I recall, suggests to you that I don’t love you?”

“So, _are_ you going to put in for a transfer?”

“I’ll put in for a transfer.” And now it’s Phil who’s serious, his fingers gripping the nape of Chris’ neck almost hard enough to bruise. “But understand, if we do this, there’s no going back. If we do this, you’re _mine_ …body, heart and soul. I will not let you go, not without a fight, so be very, very sure this is what you want.” And he’s gratified to see just a hint of that earlier submission in Chris’ eyes as he nods.

“I know, really I do – all yours, that’s all I want. Just you, no one else.”

”No more fucking around.”

“No more fucking around.”

“Hmmm, good boy, now go back to sleep – I’m too fucking old to have these conversations in the middle of the night.”


End file.
